Tales from the Slaughtered Lamb: Deathknight
by AnonymousBystander
Summary: Daethere of the Ebon Blade discovers that the end of all things may possibly also be the beginning. Revised cause it was a bit long : Complete! Keep an eye out for part two!
1. Awakening

I don't own WoW :)

All thanks goes to Blizzard for that.

Oh and a huge thankyou to the REAL Treyshamir :P For lending me his toon for this.

Chapter 1: 

Blood blossomed across the snow underfoot like a macabre scarlet flower. Lady Irina Blameux surveyed the scene with the cold glowing eyes; the eyes of a death knight never saw in colour - only black and white. Life and death, weak and strong... her new life had made things so clear. The fallen alliance soldier at her feet were weak in their life, where the regiment of Death Knights at her back were strong in death. They moved swiftly across the patchwork battlefield dispatching the few mortals that had clung so desperately to life with cold and swift execution. She drew breath - needless, she knew, since the undead need no air to breathe - she savoured the spicy metallic tang of fresh blood in the air. So ripe, so appealing.

"Begin the reanimation." She purred.

Her voice chimed in a harmonious chord across the icy ravine, the sound coming from deep within her throat and infused with the magic of command that had been gifted to her by her King. The lich under her command knew no language, but a direct order from a superior could only be met with compliance. Whether that order was to fight, die or fall upon their own blade; lich had no will of their own. Only the will of their King.

Scarlet-cloaked Necromancers began to circulate through the field, summoning ghouls from the bodies of fallen soldiers. They chanted and rattled their charms, or wands, or whatever they felt gave them the illusion of their own power. Blameux set her mouth in a knowing smile, a dark smile; such fools! To think that they had any power, any will of their own other than that of their King! Each one was replaceable with every enemy that they slew on the battlefield - that was the beauty of an army built in death. Death was inescapable for all, which meant that the supply of soldiers was endless. What genius!

"My Lady!" Another skeletal Necromancer carrying a large feathered staff of black crystal and purple glass beads drew her attention. She drew her horse closer to him, seeing immediately what it was that had caused his call for her attention; a Draenai female was lying across the ruined remains of a plague wagon. The Undead she had slain lay scattered at her feet, face down like devotees paying tribute to a deity. Blameux's eyes were drawn to her armor; plate metal in silver and gold. A paladin. She nodded once at the Necromancer and dismounted as he backed away.

She stood above the corpse, reaching down a hand as if offering to help it get to its feet. Her hand began to ebb and flow with an icy glow, the light crept from her fingers until it accumulated in her palm where it pulsed stronger and stronger like the beating of a heart. The Necromancer watched with disguised envy; even the powers he posessed were nothing compared to what his Lady was about to do. Summon a ghoul? Elementary. Reanimate one of the juggernaut sweeping across Azeroth? True power. He hungered for that kind of power.

Blameux reached down with more command in the motion, willing the body to meet her yet offering no help. For a moment the corpse shivered then started to rise. The Draenai's hair hung limply, streaked with the black blood of lich and scarlet of her own. It seemed to begin to waver in a slow, unfelt breeze. Her head was cast backwards - eyes closed - and her legs hung in a graceful arc as they left the ground. The closer her body came to the beating heart Blameux had conjured, the faster it pulsated until finally it thrummed with such longing for a body in which to reside it met her chest with a blinding flash of light.

The Necromancer turned his head away, avoiding the bright dazzle of the light of Undeath; the raw string that tied them all to their King. It sustained them, bound them to his word and gave them more power than they could have imagined in their pathetic mortal lives. When he turned back the corpse had fallen back to the snowy earth, all signs of the icy glow dissipated into her armor until the body returned to its peaceful slumber.

10... 20 seconds passed. The Necromancer furrowed his pockmarked brow,

"Did it fail?"

"Shall we test it?" Blameux turned her icy stare to him. It bored through his back as he slowly approached the corpse and knelt to its side. He lay his staff to the side and reached out to touch the body to search for some sign of Undeath. The moment his bony fingers touched the bloodied plate armor the corpses eyes flew open. With an animalistic snarl it grabbed him by the neck; fingers crushing the delicate muscle, snapping the spine and pulling the slick bony chain from his body with a wrenching cry. His body flew limply through the air then cumpled on the bloodstained ground, quivering. With no spine all he could do was shake like a leave in a strong breeze, screaming and convulsing in pain.

A shadow fell across him.

"A lesson: we do not test the power of the Lich King." She stated blankly and turned to walk away.

Leaving the crippled Necromancer on the ground behind her, she returned to the new Death Knight as it finished rising to its feet. She looked it up and down with a critical eye, walking in a slow circle around it until she came back to the front of the warrior. It did not stir, did not breath or move while she inspected her new recruit.

"Whom do you serve?" She asked finally. The Death Knight spoke, eyes focused on the horizon behind her,

"My Master, the Lich King."

"And what is your purpose?" Blameux leaned closer to the Knight, inspecting the eyes for any trace of humanity left. Nothing remained in those empty glowing blue eyes except burning fury.

"To destroy."

Blameux smiled, satisfied with the answer and mounted her warhorse once again. Her master would be pleased - he held a special place for paladins turned to their cause. One so loyal and obviously so powerful would reflect well on her own standing with him.

"Join the others. We return to Acherus to commence your training."

"Yes my Lady." The Knight blinked and fell into step behind the dozens of others Blameux had raised today as they marched across the hills.

She gave the order to move out, having reaped what they had come for and leaving the battlefield for the vultures that circled overhead. It was time to begin home.


	2. Assault on New Avalon

I don't own Wow... /cry

Ty for the review Phenylegmatic :D

Chapter 2:

"THEY'RE COMING!"

The cry rose over the town of New Avalon and fell like a black death sentance as the lookouts delivered their reports. From his place in town hall Mayor Qwimby paced a polished furrow in the wooden floorboards as the sweat poured from his shoulders and neck. Commander Darys Bloodbayne followed him with her dark brown eyes, back and forth. The lack of confidence that the Mayor had in her men was insulting. They had regiments posted at the gates, in each house and in the Keep. The finest men that the Scarlet Crusade had... and the Mayor was sweating like a horse on its way to the butchery.

The Mayor was a small round man, a large shiny forehead and dressed in the finest of clothes. He had an untrustworthy look to him, as he was always willing to do what the higest amount of coin could get him to do... which made him the perfect pawn for the Scarlet Crusade.

Finally the lookouts cries reached the town hall, bringing terrified screams and cries from the townspeople gathered outside on the lawn. Darys heard the scuffle as townsfolk attempted to push into the building, stopped by the guards she had placed there for the Mayor's safety.

"Th-they're coming?" Qwimby stammered and wiped his brow with a handkerchief and looked at his Commander. Darys was a slight woman; tall and slender. She kept her jet-black hair short for battle and wore no jewelery. She was dressed in standard-commission Scarlet Crusade regalia - gold edged plate armor with scarlet cloth underlays and a tabard that bore the red flame of the Scarlet Crusade. She breathed in deeply and resettled herself to attention, resisting the childish urge to roll her eyes. Of course the scourge were coming!

Barely days earlier the haunted ziggurat of Naxxramas had disappeared. Vanished without a trace. Then came the thunder; so distant at first the townsfolk had thought that it was their imaginations - after all the disappearance of Naxxramas had rattled many. However it soon became evident that there was a scourge threat approaching, each day the sound of thunder of ziggurats grew louder until they received news that Death's Breach had been compromised. There had been no survivors save a few townspeople who had been 'put down' for threat of infection. Their minds were broken; they had done nothing but babble about flaming horses and the cold, cold eyes of Death.

Darys mentally shook herself from her daze. It was rubbish of course. There was only one kind of Lich that they could have been referring to and they were extinct. Deathknights had not been seen for almost 5 years since the apparent disappearance of Prince Arthas of Lordaeron. They had been exterminated like the rodents that they were... and was impossible for someone to have gained enough power to birth them again. No-one existed which that much power - at least no-one _willing_. However the thought still made Darys uneasy. The Scarlet Crusade had information that placed Arthas in Northrend; he had been branded as an inactive threat... but...

She breathed out sharply, realizing for the first time that they may have allowed something to go very very wrong. Had he been as inactive as their council had thought? It had never occurred to anyone that the insane Prince may have stumbled something to make him more powerful than they could ever had imagined.

The sudden rapid approach of feet interrupted her thoughts. She tensed, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword. A scarlet messenger burst through the door, blood speckling the front of his scarlet, gold and white tabard. She saw once her met her gaze that his eyes were wide and full of terror. He fell to his knees with either relief or exhaustion at her feet.

"Commander!" He panted and closed his eyes, "The ships... burned... army... nothing... left."

"What!?" The Mayor snapped at the messenger. The messenger said nothing more, looking only at Darys. Following his gaze, the Mayor turned to her. His voice was tinged with a trace of mania when he spoke.

"What ships? Darys, what have you been planning?" His eyes glittered accusingly at her. Darys had not heard him; she was frozen on the spot, the beginnings of a cold fear beginning to eat at her bones.

The ships... the army they had been assembling for the offensive on Northrend!

"How... how could they have _known_!?" She gasped and started towards the door of the hall. A pudgy hand fell on her shoulder and she whirled, a dagger appearing in her hand. The Mayor reddened in rage, though didn't move - fearful of the blade Darys held to his neck. She sheathed it immediately.

"Forgive me, your honor." She gave her version of a sheepish grin, "Old habits die hard."

"_Just what is going on here?_" The Mayor shouted, spittle flying from his lips. Darys put a reassuring hand on his shoulder,

"Nothing to concern you, your honor. You have my word I will straighten this minor setback."

She signaled two of her men to her side as they left the hall, avoiding the angry mob of townsfolk as they shouldered and pushed their way through. She summoned her warhorse, speaking shortly as she mounted.

"If he tries to leave the Town Hall, kill him."

Both soldiers nodded in unison and gave her a salute. She returned it curtly then broke into a gallop to the Keep at the west side of the town. New Avalon had been designed strategically, the Keep was on the highest point of the town - meaning that if needed they could fight with the advantage of high ground. It also meant they could keep a watch on the happenings of the townsfolk. They meant little to the Scarlet Crusade, their main use was crafting all they needed for when the time came that they went to war. Inkeepers, Blacksmiths, Tailors... there would have been no use for them once they mounted their offensive on Northrend.

She cast a glance towards the entrance to the town; what she saw made her rein her horse in suddenly, making it rear in surprise. She steadied it, eyeing the waves of undead pouring in through the breaches in the high walls of the town. The onslaught of scourge had not been what had stopped her in her tracks though. Barely 50 paces from the walls were a group of 5 warriors in dark plate armor... fighting on the side of the _Lich_. They were cutting a bloody path through her own scarlet soldiers like they were target dummies.

They fought like animals, screaming and snarling as they ripped through mortal flesh. Through the rising smoke of magic fire and the spray of blood through the air a broad-shouldered, black-armored warrior with horns on it helm looked up from the battle - the bi-horned helm turning directly to face Darys, as if sensing her gaze. Darys felt fear clutch her heart as the soldier lifted one arm, beckoning her closer with a gentle curl of fingers. The commander's horse whinnied and shied backwards nervously. Darys stared at the warrior, two small pinpoints of blue light burned maddeningly inside the darkness of the helm. She drew her reins to her, shaking her head in denial, though she couldn't look away. The warrior plunged its huge sword into the ground, purple lightning beginning to dance around her. It struck the Scarlet Crusade soldiers and they fell noiselessly to the ground, convulsing and tearing their skin from their bones with their bare hands. Within a heartbeat they began to rise once more, flesh hanging loosely from their bodies.

She swallowed a gasp of fear as they began to tear through their old allies; tearing with new teeth and claws. A few even failed to distunguish between friend or foe and began to attack the other ghouls viciously. The warrior laughed, surrounded by the newly birthed ghouls. A deep cold laugh that sent chills through Darys body. She began to shiver uncontrollably, watching in terror as the Deathknight said something to its comrades and pointed directly at her. As four more black helms turned her way she kicked her horse viciously, fleeing the breach and galloping uncontrollably to the Keep.

The true heart of the town was the Keep - it housed the leaders of the newly reformed Scarlet Onslaught. The Onslaught was what they had been assembling on the beach - the force that the lich armies had apparently decimated. No-one except the high-ranking officers of the Onslaught had known about the offensive - not even the Mayor of New Avalon, so the possibility that it had been compromised was almost unthinkable. Darys' thoughts raced in an uncontrollable blur as she dismounted and entered the keep. She paused, noticing the absence of guards at the entrance to the Keep.

She gritted her teeth and drew her sword, quieting the pounding of her heart as it galloped around her ribcage like some kind of wild beast. Her mind raced back to the Deathknights she had seen fighting at the breach in town. Had that been all of them? What if they had penetrated the Keep covertly? Her eyes searched the corners of the corridors as she rounded the corners in the stone Keep. At the stairs to the command chamber Darys visibly shook herself. She was behaving like a child, not like a commander of the Scarlet Onslaught. She steadied herself at the top of the stairs, she must be composed before facing the High Inquisitor. She was being needlessly stupid, the chance of any scourge reaching the Keep covertly should be impossible. She was about to walk through the door to the command chamber, when the sound of voices stopped her.

"You'll have to kill me, monster! I will tell you NOTHING!" Came the booming voice of her Lieutenant Commander Coren Garnblade.

"I will tear the secrets from your soul!" A cold voice snarled, "Tell me about the Crimson Dawn and your life may be spared!"

A man screamed in pain, followed by a short gasp. Darys gripped her sword tighter as her palms began to sweat. She had been so terribly _wrong_... the scourge had been vastly more prepared than they had anticipated. Was this how they had discovered the secret army mobilizing on the beach?

"You'll be hanging in the gallows shortly, Scourge fiend!" Garnblade gasped, though his voice shook with less confidence.

Darys crouched low and rolled across the doorway, pressing herself against the door frame and peering through the crack between the door and the wall. The Lt. Commander was a large man, formidable in combat due to his sheer strength. It was clear that this was one fight where he had found an equally formidable opponent. Blood ran through his sandy blond hair and seeped through the joins in his armor, trickling down the silver and gold plate in a delicate scarlet spiderweb in the light of the room. He was on a desk at the top of the stairs in the chambers, restrained only by one Deathknight. It had one hand around the Lt. Commander's neck to hold him down as it knelt by his side on the table.

Squinting slightly she noticed pools of blood on the ground, dripping from his legs. In a split second she clapped a hand to her mouth as she suppressed a gag; the monster had severed his hamstrings to stop him from escaping! Darys began to shake now; nothing had ever prepared her for the ruthlessness of this kind of Lich. Her eyes switched to the Deathknight, noticing that it had cast aside its helm. The Lich was a female Draenai, slender and covered in dried blood. What had once been pale white hair was streaked and blackened by countless battles in grime and blood. It knotted and twisted around itself in thick dreadlocks, falling to halfway down its back. Its eyes were like the others that Darys had seen - endless holes of cold glowing ice. It must have been devastatingly lovely in life, as it was lovely in death... only the beauty was marred by the smell of stale blood sweat, that came from the blood-encrusted armor it wore. Grime coating its cheeks, its blood-red lips curved slightly as it lent down slowly and whispered in the Lt. Commander's ear,

"I can keep this up for a very long time, Scarlet dog... Is your life worth so little?"

It drew a pointed spear from its back slowly - letting the grinding pitch of metal on metal cut through the air in the room. It was barely the length of a human forearm, black and dull. The Deathknight spun it in its hand and smiled more widely - revealing a jaw with very sharp canines. What exactly were these Lich? Darys thought desperately, More animal that human?

"Just tell me what I need to know about "Crimson Dawn" and I'll end your suffering quickly." The Deathknight gently stroked the spear against Garnblades' cheek, almost lovingly. The Lt. Commander spat at it, gritting his teeth in defiance. The Deathknight laughed jovially, the same ice-cold laugh that had frozen Darys in terror at the breach.

"Oh how I love the strong ones!" Its face changed abruptly and it cocked its head to the side. It must have tightened its grip on Garnblades' neck, as he began to choke.

"I'm through being courteous with your kind, human." Its voice began to change, becoming a multitude of voices - all of them evil. It snarled and drove the spear deep into the Lt. Commander's chest, ignoring his screams as the lich levered it between his ribs.

"What is the Crimson Dawn?" The Deathknight hissed, its eyes warming in tone as it became angrier; the icy flames changed gradient to a fiery red. It lifted him from the desk with one hand and shook him violently.

"_Speak worm!_" The multitudal voice screamed. Garnblade spoke weakly, through ravaged vocal chords,

"I... used to work for... Grand Inquisitor Isillien," He smiled, "Your idea of ...pain... is a normal ...mid-afternoon for me."

The Deathknight dropped the facade of civility and snarled like an animal, raising the spear once more.

"STOP! PLEASE! " Darys suddenly cried, she stumbled from the doorway and fell to her knees. The Deathknight crouched low on the desk like a tiger waiting to strike, watching her with a sickening smile on its face.

"I was wondering how much you were going to take, hiding in the corner like a rat." It purred and straightened. It cast aside the spear and let it fall to the floor with a wet clang. Darys carefully stood on shaking legs, circling around the room towards the Lt. Commander.

"I'll tell you everything." She breathed shakily, drawing beside her superior slowly. His eyes were fluttering and he was coughing blood,

"Darys..." He muttered, blood trickling from his lips, "...run... while you still... ca-ARGH!"

Darys leapt backwards as the Deathknight suddenly jerked him from the desk using the fresh hole in his chest to grab a firm hold of his ribs. Blood began to flow freely from the wound and his head lolled limply to the side.

"Thankyou Lt Commander, your services are no longer required." The Deathknight threw him with a flick of its wrist. He hit the stone wall of the chamber with a sickening thud, dropping to the wooden floor where he didn't stir. Slowly the Lich turned its burning eyes to Darys, she fell to her knees once again under the weight of those eyes, stammering as it advanced on her slowly.

"Tell me what you know and I give you my word I shall kill you swiftly." Its eyes bored throught Darys, as if it could draw the secrets from her head with its eyes alone.

"W-We... We have only been t-told that the "Crimson Dawn" is an a-a-awakening. You see, the Light speaks to the High General. It is the Light..."

"The Light!" The Deathknight curled its lip in contempt and spat on the floor, "And what does your precious Light tell you?"

"The-the Light that g-guides us. The movement was set in motion before you came!" She said desperately, "We... We do as we are told. It is what must be done!"

"_What_ must be done?" The Deathknight picked her up with both hands and sat her heavily on the bloodied desk, "Stop stammering like a coward and tell me everything you know!"

Darys cowered, eyes wide in her head,

"I-I know v-v-very little else... The High G-General chooses who may go and who must st-st-stay b-behind. There's nothing else... You must believe me!" The face of the lich contorted and it fastened a hand around Darys' neck.

"LIES!" The Lich snarled, "The pain you are about to endure will be talked about for years to come!"

Darys grabbed the arm and begged,

"_NO! PLEASE!_ You _must_ believe me!"

"_Go where?_" The cold echo of her voice slid through Darys' mind, scattering her thoughts.

"Nuh... to er... North... to Northrend."

The Lich blinked, surprise evident on its face. It looked away from Darys, thinking deeply.

"Crafty rats." It murmured.

"P-p-p-please...." Darys begged, sweat beading on her forhead in fear. The Deathknight flicked its blue eyes up at her, she saw no compassion in the Lich. It nodded,

"I always keep my word, human. You will have a swift death. Spare a thought for your comrades that I will not be as considerate with."

Darys' bloodcurdling scream echoed through the Keep into the fast approaching night.


	3. Lich and the Light

Chapter 3:

The Deathknight emerged from New Avalon Keep, its helm tucked under its arm, and it savored the sight of the assault after it had developed in its absence. Townsfolk littered the streets; men, women and children, all asleep on their own sheets of red blood. It felt a nudge in its mind, turning to the right it saw one of its Deathknight brothers approaching on his Deathcharger. It did not know this Orc Deathknights name, just as the Orc lich did not know its... in fact no Deathknight referred to each other by name. Frankly there was no need; the collective mind they shared through their ties to their King had eliminated that. It had also eliminated the need to speak in battle; their skills were so highly trained that they worked as a unit regardless of what the enemy may throw at them. The Deathknight before it had accompanied it in many battles - with the same bi-horned black plate helm.

The Lich flung the visor of its helm up and grinned manically at it. It had been an Orc in life; once a great hero but - like the rest of its brothers and sisters - had no memory before their rebirth by their Glorious King. Its green skin was marked with scars of battle during its mortal life - wounds made in undeath left no mark - and its hair was beaded with shamanistic charms of bone and wood. The Deathknight surmised that it had been a shaman in life... undeath had been an upgrade.

"We have orders to clear the Cathedral." The Orc spoke gutturally through large fangs. The Deathknight cast a quick glance at the corpses littering the street.

"There are survivors?" It asked dubiously.

"The High Commander would not send us to an empty building." The Orc stated.

Nodding, it summoned its Deathcharger; a large ferocious warhorse with an ice-blue fiery mane and hooves of the same icy flame. The Lich swung a leg over it, drawing the reins to its plate armor and settling its helm over its head.

Suddenly it blinked, a memory ricocheting through its mind. A warm golden glow surrounded it and it looked down; golden plated armor on its arms and legs. Its horse glittered in silver and gold as it whinnied nervously.

A hand on its golden shoulder wrenched its mind back to the present. The Orc gave it a sideways glance,

"Memory?"

The Deathknight grunted and kicked its horse. The Orc shrugged,

"They come and go. Mortal weaknesses can't be so easily cast from us."

The rode in silence to the New Avalon Cathedral. Two more Deathknights waited at the gates.

"Where is..." It began, then recieved a flash of the side of the Cathedral in her mind; a young female Human in black armor was riding in circles purely to terrify the mortals inside. The Human rounded the left corner of the Cathedral and reined its horse in, swinging its axe eagerly.

"Their blood pumps strong from fear now, it will flow freely when we kill them." The Human smiled.

"Enough." The Deathknight discarded the torture instruments Prince Keleseth had given it - their purpose had been served. It drew its own swords, "Let us finish this swiftly."

It dismounted, drawing on its anger to change Presence - a little black pool of rage inside it began to stir. Its armor faded from a glowing blue to an angry red as its temperature began to rise and its own blood began to churn. The blood on its armor began to flow again, glittering and dripping. The Orc matched its Presence; its own beginning to thrum with a red glow and its armor shining wet with blood in the night sky. The armor of two others pulsated a sickening green, the scourge plague within them leaving green vapors in their wake. They were the Human and a Draenai male - their movements became swift, almost to a blurring speed as their faces became calm and terrifyingly blank; cold and calculated. The remaining Deathknight - a male Troll - made its armor throb a light blue, ice creeping across the plate and making vapor trails in the warm night air.

They all eyed each other and swung their weapons high; sword met polearm and axe met mace with a loud bang. They threw back their heads and emitted a chilling warcry to the moon.

* * *

Inside the Cathedral, Lt. Caelum Adrigor was praying. They had managed to round up the remaining townspeople and herd them inside the Cathedral. Unfortunately they had been too late to save the Mayor, he had been murdered by a large Troll in black armor. They had barely managed to escape the... thing... before it cleaved him and his men in two pieces to match the Mayors corpse on the floor.

He shook his head, trying to control the shaking in his hands. Even now he refused to believe it; Deathknights had returned to Azeroth! Impossible! As loud as the evidence was before him he flatly refused to believe. This must be some new form of Lich... something that can be _defeated_.

A loud warcry echoed outside the building, like wolves howling to warn their prey that it was cornered. A child began to wail uncontrollably in its mothers arms. The Draenai rose to his feet and moved to join the remaining 8 of his men; they had started as 20, but the Troll warrior in Town Hall had given them severe casualties.

The door shook as another blow rocked it on its hinges. At first he thought them hooves, or a battering ram; then he realized that it was merely fists. He felt his stomach drop; they were making the entire building shake with only their _fists_? Two more blows on the door and light began to creep in. Three of Lt. Adrigor's men rushed to the door, bracing themselves across it.

Suddenly one deafening bang split the door from side to side. Lt. Adrigor cursed - there had to be more than one of those aberrations out there! He cast his Blessings, on himself and his men, as he walked down the center of the Cathedral. As he passed the mother she grabbed his arm, desperation in her eyes.

"Please!" She begged, tears streaming down her cheeks as she eyed his sword. A hollow chill began to creep through him. She whispered, "For my son.... h-he's only 6..." She broke into a sob and pulled the small boy close. The Paladin sighed and drew the boy into an embrace, silently drawing the dagger from his waist. The boy whispered in his ear,

"I'm not afraid."

When Lt. Adrigor gave the boy back to his mother he was sleeping peacefully. He lay the dagger in the woman's shaking hands,

"Save the young ones." He murmered, his voice wavering only slightly. She drew herself up, wiping the tears from her eyes and knelt next to another woman with child on the floor. Pain sliding across her face as she whispered in her ear. Lt. Adrigor couldn't continue to watch; not quite sure if he had just done great evil or a great mercy.

He joined the ranks of his men at the front of the Cathedral. The splintered door was being shoved and moved as what was outside tried to get in. One of Lt. Adrigor's men swore in disbelief.

"Sir! There's only one of them!"

"What!?" He snapped. Three of his men were struggling to keep up the barricade against _one_ damned Lich!?

The door suddenly surged towards them, Lt. Adrigor and the remainder of his men jumped to keep it from splintering just a little bit longer. They were so engrossed in keeping the door from folding that they failed to noticed the four shadows fall across the stained glass windows either side of them. The woman with Lt. Adrigors dagger stumbled back from the window with a scream; a glowing red shadow emerged behind the stained glass scene of Uther Lightbringer. It grew and grew as others turned to find similar shadows growing on the windows near them.

Lt. Adrigor spun, seeing the Lich suddenly leap through the windows; smashing the scenes of light and peace with their blood-caked weapons. The cries of terror and death began to fill the air in the Cathedral. Lt. Adrigor fell to his knees, his mind locked in prayer as the Lich at the door burst through to join its brothers and sisters in the slaughter.

Opening his eyes, the Draenai Paladin looked up to see a Lich cast aside its helm with irritation. He stared into the face of one of his own kind. In one split second he took in the curve of its lips, the hidden sheen of its hair, the angle of its jaw... its face. He gasped as it raised its huge curved blade,

"_Naytiri?_"

The Lich froze, its sword suspended in the air, the same unfeeling look on its face. He rose to his feet, heart pounding. Could it be?

"Naytiri? Ho-" He was cut off as a polearm erupted from his chest. The Draenai lich snarled and struck the Orc that had mortally wounded him, sending it flying across the Cathedral and speaking in a guttural demonic tongue he had not heard in a long time. Lt. Adrigor fell to his knees, clutching his chest - trying to stem the blood flow. The Draenai woman turned back to him, speaking in a echoing voice; a voice he _knew_!

"What did you call me?"

"Naytiri the Protector." He leaned back and smiled, wavering on the spot. Hands caught him before he hit the ground, his eyes snapped open again. She was _strong_. He shook his head, "By the Light, Nay, what did they do to you?"

She frowned slightly, the expressionless face she shared with the other Lich began to crack.

"Who... is Naytiri?" She asked.

"Can you not remember?!" He sighed, sinking lower to the floor, "You were a Protector of the innocent, a beacon of Light..."

The Lich went very very still, she didn't drop him... in fact she did nothing that Lt. Adrigor would have expected. She simply did nothing.

"You are mistaken, mortal... I am called Daethere... and now you must return to your precious Light." She drew her dagger from her waist.

"Wait..." Adrigor gasped, feeling the world begin to turn black, "Please... take... this..." He pushed a small pouch into her hand, laying a hand against her bloody cheek.

"You... will... rememb..." His head lolled limply to the side and his hand fell.

The Lich was still for a moment, holding the pouch like it was a hot coal. Something had changed... within the vast collective of the scourge mind something inside her stirred.

A sense of self.

She blinked and rose to her feet swiftly, quashing the feeling quickly. She surveyed the broken ruins of the Cathedral and found the pathetic excuse for a fight was over. She tucked the pouch in her armor; it may well be something that will aid the Commander in some way. No-one must know of what had passed between her and the Paladin though, it could mean her execution for insubordinance.

One by one the Deathknights filed through the splintered door, stepping over the dead Draenai at her feet. She picked up her swords, sheathing them on her back and followed them out of the Cathedral; the face of the Paladin haunting her still.

The Orc Deathknight cast her a suspicious glance over his shoulder. She knew undoubtedly that he would report what had happened to their commander. This new piece of self-development could prove a problem to her.


	4. Final Orders

Chapter 4:

The five Deathknights returned to Death's Breach. Weaving their Deathchargers between the black and purple tents, they dismounted and dismissed their mounts - ignoring the passing stares from the mindless ghouls. Lesser Lich like ghouls and geists were scarcely better than fleshy husks; they had no purpose other than to kill. Occasionally they attacked each other, or even the weaker Deathknight Initiates - it was a lesson that they had all learned swiftly; Show no signs of weakness. The scourge had no room for compassion... why should they? Each soldier was quickly replaceable.

They were summoned to the top of a hill, overlooking the ruins of Havenshire. They had gutted and razed the little township with little to no effort, it had been inhabited by a small contingent of Scarlet soldiers but was mostly mortal peasants and farmhands. No match for even one of the Deathknights - let alone 5.

Surveying the dying embers of the town below, was a large warrior in dark gray armor. It was clean of blood and grime - unlike the Deathknights - and was emblazoned with glowing blue skulls. Embossed shapes of ribs and spines wrapped around the plate of his arms and legs, whilst the dark silver chain of the mail he wore underneath glowed with a blue inner light. At the approach of the Deathknights, he moved his head slightly, though not turning to face them; barely acknowledging their presence.

On his right was a tall Night Elf Deathknight; the same burning blue eyes and blackened armor. His blue and silver cloak identified his rank to the rest of the scourge as High Commander. He stood between Blood Prince Keleseth and Gothik the Harvester; his sword half-buried in the ground before him and both hands resting lightly on its hilt. He gave a small nod when the Deathknights approached.

The Draenai Deathknight knelt deep and low to the ground in unison with her four comrades - her bloodstained scarlet cloak pooled around her like blood on the blackened grass. As one, the Deathknights drew their weapons and drove them into the ground with a dull thud that echoed on the hill. The action of each warrior plunging their weapons into the ground stood as a sign of submission; if the Lich King decided to end their lives that moment they would be dead before they could raise their swords from the soil.

Catching the High Commanders steely gaze, the Draenai felt a question form in the Collective Mind. She allowed her lips to curve slightly into a smile and she nodded once, slowly.

The High Commander spoke,

"The Scarlet Enclave is no more, my King."

"Indeed." Came the reply from the warrior at the crest of the hill. His voice was a deep rumbling whisper, "What remains of the Crusade will be dealt with in Northrend. My Deathkinights continue to serve me well. I am pleased."

The closest thing to disguised pride bloomed within the regiment of Deathknights. Their Glorious King scarcely gave praise in any form, let alone in front of their superiors.

From her left side, the Draenai felt her Orc comrade shift slightly. She raised her head to find him conversing Collectively with the High Commander. She dropped her eyes to the ground once more, taking a low breath; he was reporting the incident with the Paladin in the Cathedral as she had foreseen that he would. She cast a glance at the High Commander, his face revealed nothing as he met her gaze. A small nudging thought edged its way into her mind.

_Later..._

The King turned to face them, his eyes burning with glacial fire from deep within his spiked helm. They all dropped their gaze to the ground, unwilling to meet his gaze. He surveyed them all, beginning to walk across the front of the line they had formed.

"We now turn all of our efforts to Light's Hope Chapel. No longer will this affront to my power be allowed to exist." He clenched a fist and looked to the Northwest, where the sun was beginning to rise. He moved back to the crest of the hill, pushing a piece of parchment towards the High Commander.

"Treyshemir, take my Deathknights and prepare them for battle."

"Your command, my King." The High Commander bowed low and tucked the parchment into his armor. He met the Lich King's gaze for a heartbeat and his eyes flicked to the Draenai. Her heartbeat quickened; was he informing the King of the happening in the Cathedral? She tensed, sensing a quick death was imminent. The Lich King paused for a moment, then turned to face her.

"You." He growled.

The Deathknight felt the weight of his gaze on her neck. Her ice-cold skin began to burn with a cold fire in response to the address from her master. Tightening a hand on the hilt of her sword she did not look up as she responded,

"My King?"

"You will assist the Commander for the assault on the Argent Dawn, Lieutenant."

Cold relief flooded her and she smiled, nodding her head as she kept her eyes fixed on the ground.

She head his heavy footsteps move away from them, a sharp command cut through the air - like an icy blast of wind against their bones. In the distance a screeching cry could be heard. Heavy wing beats came closer and closer until the massive undead Frostwyrm the Lich King had summoned landed on the hill before them. Before he mounted it, the Lich King addressed them one last time,

"I have issued my final command. Highlord Mograine awaits your arrival at the edge of Browman Mill. Rise, my Deathknights."

They all raised their eyes and stood to attention as the King inspected them one by one. His voice deepened to a low rumble of thunder as he finished,

"Do not fail me, or the pain you will endure will be the source of legend for years to come."

They each bowed fluidly in turn, the Lich King mounting the Frostwyrm as they did so and disappearing into the sky on the massive icy wings. When he had gone the High Commander spoke,

"Begin preparations for the attack. We will assemble at Browman Mill."

They all gave a salute and the regimented line broke as they moved to follow out their orders. The Draenai Deathknight lingered, sensing the High Commander wanted to speak with her. Gothik had disappeared to tend to the large number of ghouls and geists that would be required for the offensive. Prince Keleseth - ironically the scourge inquisitor - remained, his gaze fixed on her unwavering. The High Commander extended his hand wordlessly.

The Deathknight withdrew the pouch from her armor and lay it in his palm, the smallest amount of reluctance stirring in her. She quashed it quickly, once again like the feelings of self that had stirred earlier. She made no move to withdraw her sword from the ground; even in the presence of the High Commander and the Blood Prince it would be considered an insult. The High Commander turned the pouch in his slender fingers, examining it.

"What do you know of its contents?" Prince Keleseth asked, his green eyes burning. He had been a Blood Elf prince in life; his hair was a pale light gold and his skin was pale like the rest of his race. The change to undeath had not affected him as drastically as the Deathknights; no sharpened fangs nor changes to his undead eyes. They had always been a glowing green. He wore scarlet and green robes to display his rank as a Prince of the scourge, emblazoned with glowing turqoise gems.

"I have not opened it, highness." The Deathknight replied simply. The High Commander touched the leather string of the bag and paused, looking at Keleseth pointedly as they had an unheard disussion in the Collective Mind. The Prince took the bag and extended it back to the Deathknight.

"Then would it not be wise to have the Deathknight open it?" He smiled, "Should the contents prove... fatal."

"I would disagree, Keleseth." The High Commander took the bag from the undead Blood Elfs hand, "The new Lieutenant is slightly less... replaceable than before."

Pride bloomed inside her once more as she reveled in the promotion. She was no longer a replaceable commodity to the scourge... this was an unforseen improvement. She opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. The High Commander sensed her intention and motioned for her to speak.

"If I may suggest..." She began. Keleseth's eyes glittered threateningly, he clearly was not happy with her new title.

"Suggest away, Deathknight." He hissed.

She looked towards a geist to their right, passing along the blackened grass with a dull knife in its mouth as it patrolled the camp. It sensed her gaze and crawled over on all fours like a large spider, ready to undertake any order she gave it. She extended her hand to the High Commander, he raised one eyebrow and passed her the leather bag. She felt it in her hand - there was something small and hard like a stick inside it. She severely doubted that the Paladin intended to do her harm; in fact he had seemed happy, almost at peace once he saw her.

Then again, she thought to herself, it was not beyond the Scarlet Crusade to resort to trickery to cause casualties amongst their enemies. She held out the bag to the geist and it sniffed the brown pouch curiously. It looked up at her with dull eyes and mumbled something in its deep guttural tone. She smiled at it,

"Open the bag."

The geist took the bag without hesitation, ripping the leather seams. The three Lich watched it intently, Keleseth perhaps with what bordered on excitement at the prospect of some kind of cursed object causing pain or death to whomever opened the bag. The geist's eyes widened suddenly and it gave a muffled cry of delight.

"Ssssshiniesss..." It rasped, reaching into the bag and drawing out a glittering handful of glowing purple crystals. It held the hand out to the Deathknight. The High Commander frowned,

"Purple... crystal."

"Shards of something, it would appear." Keleseth masked his disappointment. The Deathknight picked out one glowing shard from the geists hand and turned it in her fingers,

"A... ship..."

"A ship?" The Blood Prince asked, "You mean these crystals are familiar to you?"

The Deathknight frowned, the faint wisp of a memory on the edge of her mind. A big purple ship, thrumming with power... then flames... shattering. The memory was broken abruptly as the High Commander scooped the crystals from the geist and swiftly from her hand.

"Items of little importance after all. I will destroy them immediately." He shot a warning glance to the Deathknight, reminding her that too much remembering had a punishment executable by death. She could not tear her eyes from the crystals as he tipped them back into the ripped pouch and tucked them into his armor. He pulled his sword from the ground, swinging it over one shoulder into its iron sheath.

"If you will excuse us, Prince Keleseth, we have an offensive to mount."

The Prince narrowed his eyes, sensing the implied threat that came from the High Commander drawing his sword from the ground prematurely.

"Darkness be with you, Treyshemir."

"And you." The High Commander motioned for the Deathknight to follow him as he left the Blood Prince on the hill. She withdrew her sword from the soil and sheathed it on her back, stopping when she caught the gaze of Keleseth as she turned. His voice dripped with poison,

"Do not let your ascension give you any false sense of security, scourge. It may make you a... liability."

She read the threat of execution in his eyes with a cold look, and replied,

"A Deathknight knows nothing of emotion, my Prince, but if I did - you would be the first to know."

The air grew thick between them as neither of them withdrew their glances. The geist at the Deathknights feet whimpered and scuttled towards Prince Keleseth. He smiled finally,

"Darkness be with you, Deathknight."

"And with you, my Prince."

She turned, not looking back until she heard the sharp cry of the suservient geist. She spun with enough time to see the Blood Prince holding the geists face with one clawed hand. It was blackening and dying, streams of glowing red light siphoning from the geist into the clawed hand of Keleseth. Slowly it began to crumble into black dust, screaming inside its muffled cloth helm. The Deathknight turned again, continuing her track down the hill with the burning emerald eyes of the scourge Prince on her retreating back.


	5. Into Battle!

Chapter 5:

They were assembled in the shadows of the trees at Browman Mill.

There was no sound as the lines of scourge quickly formed behind Highlord Darion Mograine. He stood at the crest of a small hill whilst geists weaved in and out of the forest of Deathcharger legs that had formed behind him. They were restless; muttering to themselves and climbing across the ground on thin, brittle legs.

The High Commander and the Draenai Deathknight drew up beside him. He barely spared them a glance, immersed in watching the lookouts posted on the hills surrounding Light's Hope Chapel.

The High Commander had his helm tucked under his arm, not yet needed for battle. His ashen-gray hair and sky blue skin seemed eerily orange in the light of the sunrise. His battle armor had wickedly spiked shoulders, and a darker black and white mimic of the bones that covered the Lich Kings own armor. Mograines armor matched the High Commander's, though he was of a broader shoulder than the Night Elf.

"The Deathknights are at the ready?" Mograines voice was preoccupied. The High Commander nodded only once,

"Daethere has seen to the preparations."

Mograine crossed to his right and spun his horse around to face the Draenai. He looked amused,

"This one has a name now?"

She tilted her head in an attempt at humble modesty,

"Our Glorious King saw fit to ascend me."

"The geists seem to enjoy her company." The High Commander commented dryly. The Deathknight cast a glance to her feet, noticing the small whirlpool of moving bodies that wove through her Deathchargers legs. Luckily the undead warhorse was unfazed, as used as it was to being surrounded by the scourge. It made her cautious - too many geists together could overwhelm her... had they smelled her disguised sense of self? They were uncommonly perceptive with things such as that compared to the other scourge in the Lich Kings army. She kicked one violently, watching it squeal as the others scattered away from her.

"Right then Lieutenant? Treyshemir?" Mograines face hardened, "Shall we begin?" He reined in his horse and began to move back and forth across the front of the army of scourge.

"The Argent Dawn stands defiantly against us at Light's Hope Chapel," The Highlord shouted, his voice booming across the expanse of the abandoned mill. The entire army was still, not an undead soul moved as he spoke. "They dare oppose the Scourge and for that reason alone they must be destroyed!"

He drew his sword from his side and thrust it into the air above him. Ashbringer glowed and whispered in the sunrise. It was met with many cries; swords were drawn, maces and polearms were beat against shields. The High Commander held his sword high, the rising sun of the dawn catching the glint of runes that skittered across the surface.

"The mighty armies of the Lich King stand at the ready as the final battle for the Plaguelands approaches! Let them hear you and despair!" He snarled, his Deathcharger rearing into the air, "Today we ascend into the immortal realm of Scourge heroes!"

His Deathcharger landed on all fours once more and he turned the mount to face the Draenai, his Blood Presence coming off him in waves. She could see the rage stirring in his eyes as they changed to a manic glowing red, excitement started to drum her heart against her chest.

"Are you prepared, Death Knight?" He growled. Her own eyes began to glow in response as she drew on her own pool of maddening rage. The normal black and gray world she saw through those eyes turned pink, then bright red - drawing on her superiors improved Presence. So much more power than she could hope for! The Argent Dawn would fall in a wave of blood and fire.

"Glory..." She drew her sword and thrust it into the air to match the Highlord and the High Commander, "... or Death."

"The skies will turn red with the blood of the fallen! The Lich King watches over us, minions! Leave only ashes and misery in your destructive wake!" Mograine thundered. With a yell the Warlord of the scourge began the charge towards the chapel; the Deathknights flanking him on the left and right. They made the ground tremble.

* * *

"Scourge armies approach!"

The cry rang through the encampment at Light's Hope Chapel. Soldiers of the Light began to pour from the building, taking formation around the chapel. 300 defenders of the Light in total stood ready, as the ground quaked at the approach of the 10, 000 strong army of scourge. Paladin Lord Maxwell Tyrosus was at the forefront; he held his arm high, halting the defenders from advancing.

"Stand fast, brothers and sisters! The Light will prevail!" The Paladin drew blessings on himself and the defending army, until their armor shone as if it had captured the sun.

In the small chapel behind them, representatives from the Argent Dawn and the Order of the Silver Hand sat in meditation, preparing should the lines of defense ever break. They had predicted that this day would come; they had arranged the simultaneous exhuming of the ancient heroes of Lordaeron so they could be placed in the catacombs under the chapel rather than become more pawns in the Lich Kings unholy army... and now he had come to collect them.

The gold and silver armor of the Defenders of the Light glimmered with magic - protective blessings and blessings of might glinted in the rising dawn. Each one stood unwavering as they faced the rising dust cloud in the northwest. When the first soldiers of the scourge became visible, there was a faint ripple through the men. Small, thin-legged geists ran ahead of the main army; undead ghouls and the hulking three-armed juggernauts called abominations. When the contingent of Deathknights came into view a cry went up in the ranks. Several horses began to prance nervously, sensing the change in the air.

Tyrosus had heard of the desecration of New Avalon from a mere 5 Deathknights... yet now they faced a battalion of six to fifteen hundred! He gritted his teeth and gripped his sword and shield firmly,

"Defenders of the Light!" He turned on his mount to address the unsettled soldiers, "This day will prove a test to us all! Remember what it is that we guard beneath this holy ground... and draw strength..." He faced the onslaught of scourge nearing the last hill, "Today is the day that the scourge will fall." The Paladin growled, "And the Light shall triumph over darkness once and for all."

The men at his back shouted and banged their weapons together in a clamor of steel on steel.

"Prepare yourselves!" Korfax, Champion of the Light, drew beside him at the head of the army. He nodded at Tyrosus, "To the end, Brother."

"To the end." Came the reply.

Smelling living flesh, the geists closed the distance between the two armies quickly, leaping onto the soldiers in a sheer pile of bodies that bought many to the ground in torn, bloody heaps. Two managed to bring Tyrosus from his horse. He twisted, hacking and slashing until the clamor of undead hands ceased. Drawing himself to his feet - surrounded by the cries of falling men - he looked to the Northwest, to the approaching Deathknight battalion. At the forefront of the army was a face that made Tyrosus's heart freeze with despair. Highlord Darion Mograine, the son of one of the greatest scourge slayers in the history of Azeroth, lead the charge of unholy monstrosities with Ashbringer on his treacherous back. The undead hero's face contorted when they locked eyes over the distance of barely 50 meters.

"Spare no one!" He cried, leaping into the fray. Carving a bloody path towards the Paladin, his eyes burned with maddening rage. Tyrosus steeled himself and ran to meet him, their swords meeting with a shower of sparks as the power of Light and Death clashed.

"Let me kill you swiftly, old man!" Mograine snarled, "Death is inevitable!"

Tryosus parried his blows, keeping the Deathknights blade barely inches away from his body. He aimed a thrust at Mograines unprotected side,

"How your father would despair to see what you have become, Darion!"

The blow was blocked in the blink of an eye and Mograine slid the blade of his sword forward, catching the hilt of the older mans sword and wrenching it violently from his hands with a flourished spin. The Deathknight grabbed him from behind, viciously plunging Ashbringer through his back. The Paladin gasped - eyes wide with surprise at the ease of his defeat - sinking to his knees. Mograine drew the sword out slowly, savoring the cries of pain the old Paladin made. The drew close to Tyrosus's ear, whispering in a low voice,

"My father was weak. What Arthas has given me is beyond what anyone could have imagined!"

He let the Paladin fall to the grass, grasping at the ground to try and rise again. Mograine place an plate-clad boot on his shoulder, pointing his sword down at him.

"Say hello to my father for me." Mograine sneered at Tyrosus as the last threads of life escaped him and the Deathknight plunged his sword into the ground beneath him.

The sword glowed, pulsing and throbbing in the body of the dead Paladin. It suddenly began to spark and shoot purple lightning around it, culling all enemy defenders within a 10 meter radius. Mograine laughed as the dead soldiers began to claw themselves to their feet, ripping and tearing into their old comrades with a hunger for flesh.

"Rise, minions! Destroy them!" He yelled joyously above the battle.

The Draenai Deathknight ran through the young female human she had been dualling with, cleaving her in two savagely. She plunged her own sword into the ground, calling her own purple lightning to the cold runbladed steel. A soldier came for her from behind with a yell, she dodged swiftly - sweeping him off his feet with a well-aimed kick. She twisted the gauntlets on her forearms; two wickedly curved spikes protruded from her elbows. She arched backwards and plunged the right one into the soldiers neck, using the other to hamstring another passing Paladin. She left the first soldier bleeding to death on the ground and slit the throat of the second, reveling the feeling of warm blood flowing over her arms.

_This_ was true life.

Her own summoned ghouls had begun tearing into the defenders of the chapel with fierce determination. She looked over to see Highlord Mograine stumble; for a heartbeat she thought he had been struck down and she lept over the growing pile of bodies towards him.

Two Paladins caught her from the right, each with a mace apiece and she was suddenly slammed onto the ground - her head shooting sparks across her red-tinged vision. As they swung their maces down once more to land a killing blow, she caught each mace with one hand. They froze in shock as she ripped the huge stone maces from their hands and threw them into the air. She used their moment of dumbfounded shock to dispatch them swiftly, continuing her path to the Highlord.

High Commander Treyshemir was an unstoppable force on the battlefield. Paladins barely had enough time to raise their weapons before they hit the ground, dead. Paladin Champion Korfax spun a huge two-handed mace as the High Commander culled the last Defender between them. Taking in the form of the Paladin, the Deathknight smiled wickedly - his eyes taking on a demonic fury.

"Come and embrace your doom, mortal." He spoke in the deep multitudal voice belonging to all Deathknights. Korfax charged at him, swinging his mace high. It moved in a gold and silver blur, arching high as it neared the Deathknight Commander. The undead Night Elf suddenly disappeared from the path of Korfax's mace, unbalancing him for a moment.

"You missed." Came a whisper from his ear.

Korfax whirled as the Lich's sword glanced off his armor, spiking a sharp pain in his side. Looking down, the Paladin noticed the faint ooze of blood through the chain mail of his shirt.

"That could have been a death blow." He breathed heavily. The Deathknight smiled and whirled his sword in both hands,

"Where would the fun be in that, human?"

He suddenly struck, Korfax barely had enough time to lift his mace to defend before the next blow landed. Each strike was like being struck by a sledgehammer! The undead kept up the relentless assault, until the Paladin was sweating heavily under his armor.

"Oops!" The Night Elf's sword caught the inside of Korfax's thigh, deeply severing muscles, "Too slow!"

With a gasp of pain, Korfax fell to the ground; blood pouring from his inner thigh. He gritted his teeth and roared, standing with such inhuman effort that the Scourge Commander felt a twinge of respect for the mortal.

"I will see you and your kind exterminated!" Korfax spat, swinging his mace at a blurring speed. Treyshemir danced just out of reach, the frenzied attack of the blood-crazed Paladin falling _just_ short of the Lich's armor... except for one. With a painful lunge, Korfax brought his mace up catching the Deathknight under his chin. The Lich flew backwards, landing on his back in a daze. Korfax limped towards him, until his shadow fell across the Lich's body.

"And now you die, monster." He growled and brought his mace down in a blur of gold and silver. Without warning the Deathknight grabbed the mace with one hand and, using the momentum, planted a foot on the Paladin's stomach throwing him over his head. They rolled, making dust rise from the ground. A "Huerrk!" came from Korfax's mouth and they both were still; the Deathknight smiled, the spikes of its gauntlets buried deep into the stomach of the Paladin.

"You should have spent more time training the children, _Champion_." He said the last word with a sneer, twisting the blades savagely and bringing forth a gush of blood from the wound. The Paladin emitted one more gasp before his eyes rolled into his head and he slumped backwards.

The High Commander raised a bloody fist to the air and gave a chilling war cry. Across the battlefield the cry was echoed as other Deathknights celebrated the coming victory. To his left the form of Highlord Mograine caught his eye. He was clenching his sword - Ashbringer - with a deathgrip, though it barely moved from its angle towards the ground.

"Ashbringer defies me..." He gasped through gritted teeth, struggling with the ancient sword of his father. He brought it up weakly, deflecting a blow from an attacking Paladin. Treyshemir picked up the dead Argent Champion's mace and threw it with a flick of the wrist.

It hit the Paladin on the side of his head with a sickening crunch, his skull caving in from the force and he flopped to the ground.

"You cannot win, Darion!" Came a booming call.

Cheers went up from the Argent Defenders as Highlord Tirion Fordring swept through the field with a blaze of holy light. He was a large man, older than some would have expected on a battlefield; his light brown hair was streaked with gray and his skin was tanned and weathered from exposure. He slew Deathknights with such ease that the battle swiftly changed pace, the numbers of the scourge falling drastically under his sword. The Draenai Deathknight saw her comrades fall; the Orc Deathknight - overcome with terror - turned and fled towards the direction of Archerus. She cursed under her breath.

Commander Elios Dawnbringer - a younger man from the Brotherhood of the Light - reveled in the chance of pace. He deflected what was meant to be a mortal blow from an attacking Tauren Deathknight and plunged the sword into its unprotected ribcage. It screamed in pain then fell to the ground. He spat on its dead body and surveyed the rest of the battle quickly. The appearance of the Alliance Champion had given heart to the Argent Defenders and they were attacking with vigor. So much so that soon they had eliminated most of the Abominations, geists and giants.

With a cry the Paladin lept back into battle, joining the final push against the scourge. They closed in on the Deathknights till eventually they were surrounded and the onslaught halted.

"Lay down your weapons!" Fordring commanded, "And you may be spared your lives! Bring them before the chapel!"

There was a struggle as the remaining Deathknights attempted to break the lines of Argent Defenders but it was no use. Mograine finally knelt before the Argent Highlord and submitted defeat.

"Stand down, death knights. We have lost... The Light... This place... No hope..." He said weakly and plunged Ashbringer into the ground. The Draenai Deathknight felt her power drain and fade at her Highlord's command. They had been going so strongly! What had turned the battle against them?

Fordring regarded Mograine with steely blue eyes,

"Have you learned nothing, boy? You have become all that your father fought against! Like that coward, Arthas, you allowed yourself to be consumed by the darkness...the hate... Feeding upon the misery of those you tortured and killed!"

Mograine was silent, the Deathknights could not stand to fight without his command. They were completely at the mercy of the Argent Dawn. The High Commander felt his face twist into a scowl; pathetic!

With a sweeping gesture, Fordring indicated the chapel behind them,

"Your master knows what lies beneath the chapel. It is why he dares not show his face! He's sent you and your death knights to meet their doom, Darion."

A murmur went through the undead army. What was the human talking about?

"What you are feeling right now is the anguish of a thousand lost souls! Souls that you and your master brought here! The Light will tear you apart, Darion!" Fordring pointed at the Deathknight. Mograine suddenly convulsed on the spot then - gripping the hilt of Ashbringer - he struggled to his feet.

"Save your breath, old man. It might be the last you ever draw." He sneered. He attempted to step forward, though it was as if an invisible force held him to the ground. He collapsed to his knees with a sound of defeat. He let Ashbringer drop from his hands to lay on the bloody grass, breathing hard. Something was... happening... to the sword.

"_My son! My dear, beautiful boy!_"

With a gasp, Mograine's head snapped up to find the shade of his father standing before him. Impossible! Alexandros Mograine has been slain by his brother!

"Father..." He reached one hand to the shade, "Argh...what...is..."

A wrenching took place within him and a shade of the boy he had been sprung forth, closing the distance between them. A small boy, full of life; not yet tainted by the evils of war. The shade of himself lit up when he saw the shade of his father.

"_Father, you have returned!_"

They embraced, a strong rush of emotion swept through Mograine. He clenched his fists on the grass, closing his eyes - lost in the memory.

"_You have been gone a long time, father. I thought..._"

"_Nothing could have kept me away from here, Darion. Not from my home and family._"

The Deathknights watched the scene in silence, not quite sure how to react. Never had they faced such total defeat; and now the shades of dead were beginning to return to them!? The Draenai knelt on the grass, head bowed alongside the High Commander. The occasional tightening of his grip on the hilt of his sword told her that he had not given up quite as easy as the rest of them; he was waiting for a moment to strike once more.

The young shade of Mograine spoke again,

"_Father, I wish to join you in the war against the undead. I want to fight! I can sit idle no longer!_"

_"Darion Mograine, you are barely of age to hold a sword, let alone battle the undead hordes of Lordaeron! I couldn't bear losing you. Even the thought..." _The shade of Alexandros drew his son into an embrace. Darion - the Darion of flesh - felt pain well within him like blood from a wound. It threatened to overflow as the shade of his father spoke the last words he had ever heard him say.

"_My son, there will come a day when you will command the Ashbringer and, with it, mete justice across this land. I have no doubt that when that day finally comes, you will bring pride to our people and that Lordaeron will be a better place because of you. But, my son, that day is not today_."

The shade turned to face him, the small boy in his arms faded and his eyes burned as he stared through his son - fully grown.

"_Do not forget..._"

His voice echoed over the hill. Both armies were frozen, awe-struck by the scene that Ashbringer had conjured.

"Touching..."

Darion whirled, leaping to his feet. Instantly the will of his master crashed down on him, forcing him to his knees once more with a gasp. He fell to his hands and knees, as if they were bound to the very ground itself. He looked up, his usual fiery blue eyes glowed red with rage. The large form of his King beckoned to the shade of his father, crushing his gloved hand into a fist. With a pained cry the shade shattered and was sucked into the hand of the Lich King.

"He's mine now." The scourge King leered at Mograine. Sheer fury raced through the Deathknights veins, he struggled to rise with sweat beading on his skin.

"You have betrayed me!" He thundered, "You betrayed us all you monster! You sent us here to DIE!"

With an earth-shattering 'CRACK' the power binding him shattered like glass. He lept to his feet, charging towards the Lich King with Ashbringer raised above his head.

"Face the might of Mograine!" He snarled. He had barely taken five steps towards him when he was suddenly raised into the air and tossed backwards like a rag-doll. The Lich King laughed - a deep, rumbling sound - as Mograine struggled to rise again, shaking the stars from his eyes.

"Pathetic." He hissed at the Deathknight.

"You're a damned monster, Arthas." Highlord Fordring said in his deep voice, drawing his sword, "Using them as cannon fodder... what was your purpose here?"

The Lich King turned from the struggling Mograine to face the Paladin,

"You were right, Fordring. I did send them in to die. Their lives are meaningless, but yours?"

He laughed again. It sent a shiver down the Deathknights backs, the power dripping from every sound he made. Each of them was bolted to the ground, weighed down by some invisible force. The Lich King continued,

"How simple it was to draw the great Tirion Fordring out of hiding. You've left yourself exposed, paladin. Nothing will save you," His eyes glowed with triumph, "What a lovely addition you will make to my army."

He reached out, clasping his fist around the empty air in front of him. The old Paladin suddenly grasped his neck, gasping as he was raised into the air. Small streams of golden light began to flow from him to the Lich King.

Commander Dawnbringer - who had been hidden amongst his men - drew his sword and yelled,

"ATTACK!!!"

Soldiers rushed forward from his left and right, charging toward the Scourge Lord with weapons drawn. Dawnbringer rushed forward with them, almost within reach, when suddenly Arthas turned to face them with a glare - his hands glowing purple.

"APOCALYPSE!" He boomed. A dark purple light exploded from him, knocking back Dawnbringer. He fell to the ground with a heavy 'thunk' and drew himself to his knees, seeing that all but a few of his men had been ripped to pieces by the spell. His heart missed a beat and he gasped,

"How...?"

"_Arthas!_" The cry came from Mograine, who had - with superhuman effort - climbed to his feet while the Lich was preoccupied. He gritted his teeth, "This is the day that you will LOSE!"

He hefted Ashbringer from the ground beside him and threw it towards the rapidly choking Fordring.

"Tirion!"

The Paladin heard his warning and caught the sword deftly with one hand. Instantly the Lich Kings grip on him disappeared and he dropped to the ground. A glow began to grow from his hands, spreading wider and wider until he was awash with light. The sword in his hands uttered a high keening sound - like a screech - and flared.

Dawnbringer shielded his eyes against the light, as did everyone else on the hillside. The Deathknights cowered before it, remaining on their hands and knees in servitude. When the light died there came gasps from the Argent soldiers. Fordring was standing, his armor radiating a golden light. It came off him in waves - warming the faces of everyone who watched - filling them with awe. The Paladin spun the sword easily in his hands.

"_ARTHAS!_" He pointed the sword at the undead King, "Prepare to be judged!"

The Lich King appeared to be off-guard.

"What is this?" He bellowed.

"Your end." Fordring growled. He charged towards Arthas with Ashbringer as a shining brilliance in his hands. The Lich King drew his own sword - Frostmourne. It was the 'Dark' to Ashbringers 'Light'; it rippled with glowing runes, liquid ice dripping from its serrated edges. They met with a loud clash, the force blowing Arthas off his feet. Fordring stood, shocked for one moment from the power of the cleansed sword. The Lich King drew to his feet again.

"Impossible..." He rumbled, "This... isn't... over..."

The Paladin's eyes glittered,

"Indeed it is not."

"When next we meet it won't be on holy ground, paladin!"

Two things happened in that instant; with a loud bang that roused surprised shouts from the Defenders guarding the captive Deathknights, the Lich King disappeared in a blinding flash of ice blue... and the links that bound him to his scourge Deathknights were severed.


	6. Severance

Chapter 6:

A sharp pain cut through the Draenai and the true weight of her plate armor hit her like a 5 tonne weight.

Around her the crowd of 50 or so remaining Deathknights dropped like weighted stones in unison. There was a moment of peaceful silence in which the Defenders, the Argent Dawn - indeed the world - held its breath.

Then the wailing began.

Such loneliness... terrifying solitude swept over them like a black wave of panic. The reassuring presence of the Collective Mind stretched and snapped, bringing horrifying sounds from the mouths of the Deathknights. They writhed and convulsed on the ground; some lying still after only a moment - having surrendered to the final death than to live in solitude. Others surveyed themselves with wide-eyed and horrified expressions, repulsed by the realization of what they were... what they had become.

The Draenai was floating in a black ocean. Numbness began to set into her body. Her body? _Her_ body. Self-awareness hit her like a blow to the gut, ripping the ground from underneath her and bringing a choked gasp from her lips. She heard others spiral into the madness of such abrupt severance from the power they'd known for so long. With trembling arms, she drew to her knees and lifted her head groggily to survey the pandemonium - her eyes swimming with tears of pain.

"Monster!"

"WHAT AM I!?"

"The others..."

"Gone! It's all gone!"

"My eyes! Oh god, my EYES!"

"Who did this?!"

"So alone..."

Some Lich were screaming uncontrollably, quivering on the grass, crying out in a multitude of languages. Others were merely sobbing; great heaving sobs that shook their bodies violently. A Troll male cried out in terror, catching the reflection of himself in the blade of a discarded sword. He clawed at his glowing blue eyes, ripped at his skin until they were a bloody mess.

The Draenai turned her eyes from him, feeling her stomach boil. A fresh wave of icy pain lanced through her, sucking at her strength until her trembling arms folded and she collapsed on the ground. She drew shallow breaths, allowing calm blackness to creep over her. She started to feel lighter, the weight of her armor fading from her skin as she tried to die.

_Get up!_

The order sent a shocking jolt shot through her body and she flinched. Slowly, her limbs began to tense - attempting to obey. She swept a hand across the bloody grass; a sudden sense of feeling smashed into her. The dry brittle blades of grass beneath her fingertips, the hot stickiness of spilt blood that was cooling in the afternoon sun... it all felt _wonderful_.

_Get up!_

The order cracked through her mind like a whip, sending another jolt of electricity through her bones. It was like being shocked back to life! A small stone of reluctance remained in her, making her body _just_ too heavy to drag to herself feet.

_Open your eyes..._

Where was this voice coming from? The Draenai opened her eyes, eyelashes fluttering lightly. Light flooded her vision, making her flinch and clap a hand to her eyes with a sound of pain. She rolled to her back, opening her eyes to slits to allow them to adjust. Adjust? Her eyes widened as they drunk in the burnt orange tint of the sky. Had the sky always been this colour? Wasn't it meant to be... blue?

_Sunset._

She agreed with the voice. The battle must have lasted all day. It was strange - she remembered very little of the fighting. In fact she remembered very little of anything other than the droning voice of the scourge and the monotonous black and white world she'd inhabited like a ghost. How long? How long had she been dead? What was her name?

_Deathere._

Her breath caught in her throat, forming a lump. Her name... _her_ name! It had been given to her by... by...

_The High Commander_.

A brief memory of a tall Night Elf with a billowing red cloak and blackened armor flashed before her eyes. He had named her barely a day ago. Had he survived? Had _anyone_ from her unit survived?

_There are sure to be some like us._

Us? The shock of realization hit her mind, already battered from the experience of the Severing. The voice in her head... it was her! She could feel it, swimming around inside her like a fish in a glass bowl. It hadn't found exactly where to settle yet. She pushed herself up with her hands, feeling the movement shake the fragile presence of her self drifting inside that glass bowl. She took a moment to steady herself, drawing a deep breath and letting the person inside her settle like a bird settling into its nest...

...then she stood.

The sight left the Argent Defenders agape in wonder. What had happened? The unconscious and - one could assume - dead forms of Deathknights littered the ground. They had dropped like sacks of grain to the floor. They had burst into heaving sobs, screams of pain and gone mad - even tearing at their own skin. Now all was silent once more. The night air was permeated only by the sound of labored breathing and shifting armor.

Commander Dawnbringer kept a firm grip on his weapon as the Deathknights at his feet trembled. The looks of terror were fading from their undead faces, replaced with wonder... and something harder. Steely determination, fierce anger burned in the identical blue flames that passed as eyes on their faces.

They began to stand.

Well at first, just one. The body of Darion Mograine gasped sharply. He shuddered then pushed himself to his feet, seemingly drained of all strength. He pulled off his helm weakly and cast it aside; it bounced and rolled down the hill. He looked over the rest of the bodies of the Deathknights and his gaze became hard.

"On your feet, Deathknights!" He snapped.

A chorus of gasps answered him - identical to the one he had emitted himself barely a minute before. Bodies trembled. A lone Deathknight stood - its knees shaking from the effort. Two slender horns wove out of its helm - a Draenai. It picked up the sword by its side, swung it onto its back and took an uncertain step towards Highlord Fordring. He was standing beside Dawnbringer and instantly the Paladin commander and four Argent Defenders leapt to his side, swords drawn. He dismissed them with a wave,

"Stand down soldiers."

They gave him incredulous looks, but obeyed him. Dawnbringer lingered a moment longer.

"Sir, it's armed."

"Something of great mention is about to be witnessed, Eligor."

The older man's eyes sparkled with joyous anticipation. What did he see when he surveyed what had happened to the scourge before them? Eligor bowed and stepped back, though still within reach if needed. The Deathknights steps began to become more certain, stronger as it approached. He eyed it with distrust - how many of his men had it cleaved in two with that monstrous sword strapped across its back? It wove through the bodies of the fallen on the grass.

"Deathknights... rise!" Came another bellowing order from Mograine. To the amazement of the Argent Defenders, another 20-30 undead shuddered and stood shakily.

"By the light!" Dawnbringer murmured. Fordring half-smiled.

"Even from the gates of the final death... they answer the call of their commander." He said sagely.

The Draenai Deathknight passed two more bodies on the ground. They rose and joined it, falling into step beside it. Dawnbringer narrowed his eyes at one of them, noticing its cloak depicted a high rank.

When they had approached the Highlord they halted, looking at each other. Both sides were still.

The first Deathknight raised an arm to its neck. The Argent Defenders lept forward once more, swords at the throats of the lich. Neither three of them flinched from the blades, they were deathly still.

"I said _stand down_!" Fordring bellowed. Dawnbringer shot him a look and nodded to him men. They drew back again. Fordring turned to address his Paladins.

"We have all been witness to a terrible tragedy. The blood of good men has been shed upon this soil." He gestured to the surviving Argent Defenders, almost three-quarters of their men had been slain.

"Honorable knights, slain defending their lives - our lives! And while such things can never be forgotten, we must remain vigilant in our cause." Fordring gestured to the bodies that littered the ground, "The Lich King must answer for what he has done and must not be allowed to cause further destruction to our world!"

This was met with murmurs of agreement in the ranks of Argent Defenders. Dawnbringer was still uncertain - what was Tirion planning to do with the remaining scourge?

"I make a promise to you now, brothers and sisters: The Lich King will be defeated! On this day, I call for a union. The Argent Dawn and the Order of the Silver Hand will come together as one! We will succeed where so many before us have failed!" Fordring lifted a fist to the north. "We will take the fight to Arthas and tear down the walls of Icecrown!" He boomed. The Argent Dawn cheered and beat their weapons against each other.

When the noise had died down a deep voice cut through the silence.

"You will not be alone!"

Mograine - surrendered to the fact that a majority of his Knights would never rise again - began to move towards Fordring, taking his place in front of the Deathknights. Fordring extended Ashbringer to him, its blade still shining like a beacon in the sunset. Mograine bowed his head and plunged it into the ground - dropping to one knee before the Paladin.

The other three Deathknights, who had remained silent throughout the entire speech, removed their own helms. The Draenai shook knotted silver hair from the plate helm, her bloodstained skin the colour of a summer sky underneath the grime of battle. The two others beside her were a flame-haired female Human and a pale Nightelf. The three of them drew their own swords and stuck them in the ground in unison, kneeling behind Mograine. Dawnbringer gaped as Mograine continued,

"While our kind has no place in your world, we will fight to bring an end to the Lich King. This I vow!" He finished harshly. "We pledge our swords to your cause, Tirion."

With resonating scrapes of steel on steel, every remaining Deathknight drew their sword and plunged it into the ground. They each fell to their knees in a rippling wave.

A strong hand took Mograines shoulder firmly, making him look up sharply.

"Stand, Darion." Fordring sternly. Mograine stood, the other Deathknights remained where they were. The old Paladins face opened to a wide smile,

"It will be good to fight by your side once more!"

They clasped hands firmly. Fordring called to the heavens,

"The Argent Crusade comes for you, Arthas!"

"So too do the Knights of the Ebon Blade... you will pay for your crimes, betrayer!" Mograine brandished Ashbringer in the setting sun, the light shining from the legendary sword.

Dawnbringer fell back from the crowd, sickened.

He had spent the last 10 hours fighting the scourge monstrosities... now they knelt and pledged themselves to destroy the very one that they had served! The very same scourge that had ripped his men to shreds, impaled them, beheaded them... reveled in the shower of blood! How could Fordring even entertain the notion of trusting them? With a sudden rush of fury he balled his fist and slammed it into the table that sat in the middle of the chapel. It emitted a sharp crack and split, sagging in the middle.

He drew a jagged breath, ignoring the burning from his bleeding knuckles. He would have loved to have executed each one, right this moment, but knew that now that they had pledged allegiance to the Argent Crusade they would be protected.

He looked back out of the chapel door, seeing Mograine and Fordring embrace like brothers. A keeling scourge - the Draenai monstrocity - caught his eyes with its own fiery blue gaze. He spat on the floor and turned away from it. He can wait; Northrend supplied endless opportunities for the self-sacrificing Deathknights to mysteriously 'disappear'. He smiled.

Yes, he could wait.


End file.
